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rT SEEMS to me/^ 
said Mr. Stephen 
pt Kingsley thoughtfully 
to himself, as he laid 
down his 3^ounger 
brother SamuePs letter, ‘‘that it 
would be a very good thing to 
get Sam and Sylvester together. 
Judging by this letter — and one I 
had not long ago from Syl — it 
must be some three or four years 
since they Ve met — voluntarily. 
And that is too long — altogether 
too long — for brothers to remain in 
relations — er — lacking harmony.’^ 
3 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 

He perused the letter again. As 
he had observed, its general tenor 
certainly did suggest that the re- 
lations between Samuel and Syl- 
vester lacked harmony, and that 
that was a very mild putting of 
the case. SamueFs terse phrases 
left the situation in no doubt what- 
ever. 

I don’t like to say it to you, Stephen,” 
the letter ran in one portion, ‘‘but Syl- 
vester has acted not only unfairly, but 
contemptibly. I could have forgiven 
him the act itself, but the manner of the 
act — never. It was done too deliber- 
ately, too designedly, to be overlooked. 

I shall not overlook it. I shall ” 

etc. 

In short, the letter had not been 
pleasant reading. The white- 
haired brother who read it, lying 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


back among his invalid^s pillows, 
with a wry httle twist of pain about 
his gentle Hps as his eyes labori- 
ously followed Samuel’s vigorous 
scrawls and equally vigorous 
language, felt it to be a matter in 
which it was time to interfere. 
Men and brothers of the age of 
Samuel and Sylvester — neither 
would see forty-five years again — 
should not be allowed to feel in this 
way toward each other if their 
elder brother could help it. 

^‘He ‘doesn’t Hke to say it,”’ 
commented Stephen Kingsley with 
mild irony, “yet he seems to say 
it with considerable rehsh, never- 
theless. The question is — what 
can I do?” 

He closed his eyes and lay think- 
ing. After a httle he put out his 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 


hand and touched an electric bell. 
Its distant summons presently 
brought into the room the tall and 
commanding figure of a woman 
with iron-gray hair and a capable 
face. Mrs. Griggs had been Mr. 
Stephen Kingsley’s housekeeper for 
thirty years; there could be no per- 
son more fitting for an elderly 
bachelor to consult. 

Mr. Kingsley opened his eyes 
and regarded Mrs. Griggs with an 
air of deliberation. His plans were 
made. He announced them. As 
one looked at Mrs. Griggs one 
would hardly have expected an 
employer so helpless as he to issue 
orders to a subject so powerful as 
she, in so firm a manner. Yet he 
gave the impression of consulting 
her, after all. 


6 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


‘‘Mrs. Griggs/’ said he, “I am 
thinking of having a Christmas 
house-party. Merely the family, 
you know. Yet that means a con- 
siderable number, including — er — 
all the babies. Should you think 
we could accommodate them?” 

Mrs. Griggs’s somewhat stem 
expression of face grew incredu- 
lous. Having served Mr. Kingsley 
so long, under conditions so pecu- 
liar, she was accustomed to take 

— and was allowed — liberties of 
speech which would have been 
sternly forbidden any other person 
outside the circle of kinship. 

“The family!” said she. “You 

— they — why, there won’t more’n 

half of them come. Your brother 
Sylvester and your brother Sam- 
uel ” 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 


understand about Sylvester 
and Samuel. That is why I want 
a Christmas house-party.’’ 

“Your sister Clara and your 

sister Isabel ” 

“That was not serious. They 
must be quite over it by now.” 

“Not over it at all. It’s worse. 
I happen to know what they said to 
each other the last time they were 

here. Your sister Clara said ” 

“Nevermind, Mrs. Griggs. We 
must surely get them here. The 
others are certainly on the best of 
terms.” 

Mrs. Griggs pursed her lips. “ I 
guess you’ve forgotten, Mr. Ste- 
phen about that old fuss between 
Geoige’s family and William’s. 
They've never been the same since. 

There’s a coolness ” 

8 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


‘‘We will warm it up. Coolness 
can’t exist in the Christmas warmth. 
If you feel that you can tuck every- 
body away somewhere ” 

“Mr. Stephen” — Mrs. Griggs’s 
tone was a trifle indignant — 
“there’s eleven sleeping-rooms in 
this house.” 

“ Are there? I had forgotten. I 
haven’t been upstairs in — twenty 
years. I can’t quite remember 
whether there are fireplaces in them 
all.” 

“All but two — and they have 
Franklin stoves.” 

“Have Israel fill all the wood- 
boxes, Mrs. Griggs. Send him to 
the woods for ground-pine. I will 
order holly from the city. Tell 
Mary and Hannah to begin cook- 
ing and baking. But I must write 
9 





BROTHERLY HOUSE 


my invitations. It’s three weeks 
yet to Christmas. Plenty of time 
to plan. Please hand me my writ- 
ing materials, Mrs. Griggs.” 

^^Mr. Stephen” — the housekeep- 
er’s hand lingered on the leather 
tablet without taking it from the 
desk across the room — ^^do you 
think you’d better try to write all 
those letters to-day? There’s con- 
siderable many of the family and — 
you didn’t sleep much last night.” 

‘^Didn’t I? I shall sleep better 
to-night, Mrs. Griggs, if the letters 
are posted. Let me get them off 
my mind.” 

Reluctantly she gave him the 
tablet and his fountain-pen. Then 
she propped him up among his pil- 
lows and Hghted a reading-lamp at 
his elbow; the day was dull and his 


10 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


eyesight not of the keenest — his 
physical eyesight. The spiritual 
vision reached far and away, quite 
out of the world altogether. 

The letters went out. With five 
of them went five others, appen- 
dices in the hand of Mrs. Griggs. 

At Samuel Kingsley^s breakfast- 
table, twenty-four hours later, letter 
and appendix produced their effect. 
But due credit must certainly be 
given to the appendix. Mr. Stephen 
Kingsley’s letter read thus: 

Dear Samuel: 

“I am thinking of having a Christmas 
house-party. It seems a long time since 
I have seen the family all together. 
There are at least three new babies 
among the children. I am asking every- 
body to come on the day before Christ- 


II 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


mas — Wednesday — and remain over 
at least imtil Friday. Don’t refuse me. 
I should write much more, but must send 
word to all the others, and you know my 
eyes. 

“ Believe me always 
‘^Lovingly your brother, 

Stephen.” 

“Sylvester will be there,’’ was 
Samuel’s comment. He closed his 
lips tight as he said it. They were 
firm-set lips beneath a close- 
trimmed gray moustache. He 
squared his broad shoulders. “ Syl- 
vester will be there — and I wonHi ” 
his keen, brown eyes added. 

Then he opened the appendix. 

^‘Respected Sir and Friend began 
Mrs. Griggs with dignity, “I take my 
pen in hand to send you a line in regard 
to Mr. Stephen’s letter, hoping this finds 


12 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

you well and will reach you by the same 
mail. I hope you and Mrs. Samuel and 
the family will come as Mr. Stephen 
wishes, as he has set his mind on having 
this party, which I think is too much for 
him, but he will do it. Mr. Stephen is 
not as strong as he was. Hoping you 

will come. „ 

Respectfully yours, 

‘‘Sarah A. Griggs.’’ 

It could hardly be said that Mrs. 
Griggs’s language possessed to a 
greater degree than Mr. Kingsley’s 
the quality of persuasion. But one 
sentence in her letter, together 
with the fact that she had con- 
sidered it a matter which called 
upon her to take her unaccustomed 
pen in hand at all, gave weight to 
the invitation. Mr. Samuel Kings- 
ley handed both letters across the 
table to his wife, with the curt com- 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

ment that it was a confounded 
nuisance, and he didn’t see what 
had got into Stephen’s head, but 
he supposed they’d have to con- 
sider it. 

The other letters met with varied 
receptions. To all they were a 
surprise, for Stephen lived well out 
of town and had been a recluse for 
so long that nobody was in the 
habit of taking him much into con- 
sideration when it came to affairs 
social. There could be no ques- 
tion that he was well beloved by 
every member of his family, and 
sincerely pitied — when they took 
time to think about it, which was 
not often. But, except for brief, 
infrequent visits at his quiet home, 
inspired by a sense of duty, few of 
them felt him in their lives at all. 


14 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

It interfered decidedly with pre- 
vious plans, but nobody was quite 
willing to refuse the invitation — 
certainly not those to whom Mrs. 
Griggs, with shrewd grasp of vari- 
ous situations, had ventured to in- 
dite her supplementary lines. To 
each of these her appeal on the 
score of Mr. Stephen’s failing health 
came as a sting to action and turned 
the scale. More or less grudgingly, 
they all wrote that they would 
come. But not without mental 
reservations as to courses of pro- 
cedure when on the spot. George’s 
family need not be familiar with 
William’s. Clara and Isabel would 
avoid each other all that it was pos- 
sible to do without attracting the 
notice of a certain pair of mild blue 
eyes beneath a crown of thick white 

15 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

hair. And Samuel and Sylvester 
— would Samuel and Sylvester 
even so much as shake hands? 
Those who knew them best doubted 
it. 

But the children were all glad 
to go. Family quarrels mattered 
nothing to then. And in the chil- 
dren lay Stephen’s hope. 

The house was ready. Digni- 
fied, even stately, with its tall pil- 
lars and lines of fine proportion, 
representing the best of the archi- 
tecture of New England’s early 
days, Stephen Kingsley’s country 
home stood awaiting its guests. 
Far back from the road, its wide 
front entrance was festooned with 
hemlock and pine, a stout young 
tree fastened upon either side. The 

i6 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

tong-closed blinds of the upper 
story were all thrown wide; from 
each square chimney floated a wel- 
coming banner of smoke. Passers- 
by upon the road that morning, on 
their way to family reunions of 
their own, gazed and wondered. 
It was»many a long day since “the 
old Kingsley place’’ had worn that 
hospitable air of habitation. 

Inside, activity reigned from 
cellar to roof-tree — the activity 
which is the fine flower of many 
previous days of preparation. 
Speaking of flowers, they were 
everywhere. It would seem as if 
Mr. Kingsley’s orders must have 
stripped the nearest city of scarlet 
carnations, so lavishly were they 
combined with the holly and 
ground-pine of the decorations. 

17 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 


Every guest-room smiled with a big 
bunch of them, reflected cheerily 
from quaint old mirrors above low 
dressing-tables. Downstairs they 
glowed even from obscure comers, 
lighting up the severely decorous 
order of the rooms into a vivid sug- 
gestion of festivities to come. One 
big bloom, broken from its stem, 
had been picked up by Hannah, 
the cook, and now, tucked securely 
into her tightly braided black hair, 
burned hardly more brightly than 
her cheeks, flushed as they were 
with excitement and haste. 

‘‘It’s the cookin’ for so many 
that upsets me,” she averred, 
standing with Mary, the waitress, 
before a pile of plates and trying 
to estimate how many would be 
needed of that particular size. “I 

i8 


M 




BROTHERLY HOUSE 


was brought up in a big fam’ly 
myself, but livin’ so long in this 
quiet house and cookin’ for one 
who doesn’t eat what a baby would, 
has made me forget.” 

‘‘But you wouldn’t take the help 
he said he’d get for you,” Mary re- 
minded her. 

“To be sure I wouldn’t,” Han- 
nah cried, hotly. “After workin’ 
for him all these years and gettin’ 
such wages as he pays, would I see 
another come in and do for him 
when he has comp’ny — for once 
in his life? Not even from Mrs. 
Griggs would I take help with the 
cookin’ and bakin’ — not that she’d 
offer it* And I guess we’ve enough 
in the butt’ry, come there never 
so many extrys.” 

“I guess we have,” Mary agreed 
19 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


proudly, with a glance into the 
stone-floored buttery, where the 
ample shelves were laden with food 
until one might well wonder if they 
were stoutly enough built to carry 
such a load. “There^s nothin^ 
stingy about him. You should see 
the chambers, Hannah. There’s 
been fires burnin’ in every one of 
the fireplaces since day before 
yesterd’y, because he was afraid 
the rooms would be damp, shut up 
so long. Israel’s watched ’em like 
babies, too, thinkin’ they might be 
a chimley catch fire. . . . And 

the sheets, Hannah, that Mrs. 
Griggs has brought out from the 
linen-closet that she always keeps 
locked so careful! What such an 
old bachelor ever wanted of so 
many sheets ” 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 

^‘They was his mother’s before 
him,” Hannah explained. She hur- 
ried away as she spoke, a tower- 
ing pile of gold-banded plates in 
her capable hands. ‘^With the 
fam’ly she had — and not all of 
them livin’ now to come here to- 
day — she had need of a plenty of 
sheets, and fine ones they was, at 
that. Mrs. Griggs knows just how 
many there is of ’em, too, I can tell 
you. One would think they was 
her own, she’s that ” 

The appearance of the house- 
keeper’s face in the doorway hushed 
the talk in the kitchen. Mrs. 
Griggs bore a message from Mr. 
Stephen, and to Mr. Stephen she 
presently returned. With all her 
cares on this supreme morning, Mrs. 
Griggs’s greatest solicitude was for 


21 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


her master. Not that she ever 
thought of him by that title. If 
he had been her elder brother she 
could not have felt herself more of 
a sister to him, nor could she have 
been more anxious lest his wilful- 
ness in the matter of the house- 
party prove too much for his frail 
strength. She had insisted with a 
firm hand that he remain in bed 
until the latest possible moment, 
and now that, an hour before train- 
time, she allowed him to get up, 
it was still to refuse him the trip 
he wanted, in his invalid chair, 
about the lower rooms, to see that 
all was as he could wish. 

You know very weU,’’ said she, 
‘‘that IVe not worked for three 
weeks getting ready, for nothing. 
Everything’s perfect, if I do say it. 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


You can trust me. And there’s no 
use using up what little gimp you’ve 
sot.” 

This was indisputable. “I sup- 
pose I haven’t much ‘gimp,’” Mr. 
Kingsley admitted, with his patient 
smile, “though I really feel as if 
I were possessed of a trifle more 
than usual, this morning, Mrs. 
Griggs.” 

“ ’Tisn’t reliable,” his house- 
keeper responded with conviction. 
“It’s merely excitement, Mr. 
Stephen, and it’s likely to leave 
you flatter than ever if you go to 
counting on it.” 

This also being highly probable, 
Mr. Kingsley submitted to her 
judgment, and in his own sitting- 
room, a large and comfortable 
apartment, across the wide hall 

23 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


from the more formal parlour, 
awaited his guests, himself in as 
festal array as he could compass. 
Instead of his usual dressing-gown 
he wore a frock-coat, of somewhat 
old-fashioned cut but of irreproach- 
able freshness. (Mrs. Griggs had a 
method of her own for insuring the 
integrity of garments laid away, a 
method which endued them with 
no impleasant preservative odours.) 
In his buttonhole gleamed a sprig 
of glossy holly, rich with berries — 
his hands trembled a little as he 
adjusted it. Unquestionably it 
was an exciting morning for Mr. 
Stephen Kingsley; he had need, as 
Mrs. Griggs had sagely urged, to 
conserve all his energies for the 
drafts that were to be made upon 
them. 


24 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


From his window he watched 
Israel, his rehable man-of-all work, 
drive off with the old family car- 
riage and horses to the village 
station, two miles away, to meet the 
morning train, on which part of his 
guests were due. Others would come 
by trolley, still others, the most 
prosperous of the family, by private 
motor conveyance of their own, 
from the city, thirty miles away. 

And now, in due time, the first 
of his Christmas guests were at 
his door, and Mrs. Griggs, wearing 
her best black-henrietta gown, her 
shoulders well thrown back and an 
expression of great dignity upon 
her face, was ushering them in. 

Clara — Mrs. Pierce Wendell — 
caught sight of Isabel — Mrs. 

25 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


James Dent — before she was fairly 
inside brother Stephen’s doors. 
Clara was fair and fine and impres- 
sive in elaborate widow’s mourn- 
ing and an air of haughtiness which 
became decidedly more pronounced 
at sight of her sister Isabel. Mrs. 
Dent was tall and thin, and very 
quietly, almost austerely, dressed. 
The one hved in town, the other in 
the country. But just why these 
differences in mere outward cir- 
cumstance should have brought 
about such a breach of feeling that 
they could barely greet each other 
with courtesy was a subject to 
which the elder brother, who 
awaited them in his own room, had 
given much thought. 

But he did not attempt to force 
matters. When Isabel, standing 
26 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

beside his chair, nodded coolly at 
Clara as she approached, and then 
moved immediately away without 
further greeting, Stephen took no 
notice. If they could have seen, 
his eyes took on a certain peculiar 
deeper shadowing which meant 
that his heart was intimately con- 
cerned with the matter of the sis- 
terly estrangement. But his wel- 
coming smile as he greeted Clara 
was as bright as the one he had 
lately turned upon Isabel, and the 
questions concerning her welfare 
with which he detained her showed 
as brotherly an interest as if he had 
not been quite sure within himself 
that Clara was the offender most 
deeply at fault. 

The Christmas guests arrived in 
instalments. By noon George's 

27 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

and William’s families had come — 
on the same train, although each 
had taken pains to ascertain that 
the other was likely to await a later 
hour. At three in the afternoon 
Sylvester and Mrs. Sylvester had 
pulled up in a big, shiny brown 
limousine, accompanied by Mrs. 
Sylvester’s maid, and driven by a 
chauffeur swathed in fiu*s to the 
tip of his nose, as were also Mr. 
and Mrs. Sylvester. There were 
no children; it was the one childless 
branch of the family. 

Seems as if they might have 
brought somebody else in that 
great travehng opera-box,” de- 
clared Mrs. George to Mrs. Clara 
from the library window. ‘‘They 
came straight by our house if they 
came the Williamsville road, as 
28 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

IVe no doubt they did. That 
machine will hold seven. I 
shouldn’t say it to Stephen, but it 
looks to me as if the more money 
Sylvester makes the closer he gets.” 

“That’s her fault,” responded 
Clara, watching between the cur- 
tains as her brother Sylvester’s 
wife, in furs which cost several 
times the amount of Mrs. Clara’s 
own, came somewhat languidly up 
the walk. “She’s getting so ex- 
clusive she’s likely to cut Sylvester’s 
family at almost any time. Since 
the trouble between Sylvester and 
Samuel ” 

“I heard through Matilda that 
they barely speak now,” whispered 
Mrs. George hurriedly. The li- 
brary had been invaded with a 
rush by seven children and a dog — 


20 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

the dog, Uncle Stephen’s old Fido, 
nearly out of his head with excite- 
ment over the unexpected advent 
of such an army of pla3dellows. 

‘‘I think it’s extremely improba- 
ble that Samuel will come at all,” 
Mrs. Clara whispered back. ‘‘ Mrs. 
Griggs admitted to me just now 
that it was Samuel who called her 
up over the ’phone. ‘We expect 
them all! ’ — that’s what she was 
saying. She tried to put me off 
with the notion that he was inquir- 
ing if the children were all here — 
something about presents for them 
— you know how generous Samuel 
always is with the children. But 
I’ve no doubt at all he wanted to 
know if Sylvester was expected. 
I shall be very much surprised if we 
see Samuel. ” 


30 


BROTHERLY BOUSE 


The five-o’clock train brought 
James Dent, Isabel’s husband, and 
James Dent, Junior; several young 
people of the house of Lucas, whose 
mother — Marian Kingsley — was 
not living; and the children of 
Samuel, assorted ages, and accom- 
panied by a nurse. The eldest of 
them, Anne, explained that her 
father and mother were coming in 
the roadster. 

Mrs. Clara looked at Mrs. 
George. If she had shrieked at her 
she could not have said more 
plainly: ‘‘You’ll see! The car will 
break down, they will not come to- 
night. Else why didn’t they come 
on the train with the children? ” 

James Dent, Junior, was the 
last of the evening arrivals to ap- 


31 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

proach his Uncle Stephen’s chair. 
This was not from any lack of de- 
sire to greet his host, but because 
the instant he put his round, smil- 
ing face inside the door, he was set 
upon by fourteen children — this 
was their number now — and the 
dog, and pulled hither and yon and 
shouted at and barked at and gen- 
erally given a rousing welcome. He 
deserved it. If ever Stevenson’s 
description of the entrance of a 
happy man into a room fitted any- 
body it fitted James Dent, Junior. 

It was, indeed, ^^as though an- 
other candle had been hghted,” 
although in this young man’s case 
a dozen candles could not have 
made so great a difference. And 
if it would be understood how im- 
possible it was for anybody not to 
32 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


like Jim Dent it is only necessary 
to say that when he — the son of 
Isabel — reached Aunt Clara and 
kissed her heartily on her fair cheek 
she did not repulse him. Repulse 
him? One might as well try to 
repulse a summer breeze! 

‘‘Clear a space, all of you!’^ 
commanded James Dent, Junior. 
“I want a chance at Uncle Stephen. 
Be off! I’ll not speak to any of 
you again till I’ve had ten minutes 
alone with him. Why, I haven’t 
seen him for a month. ” 

A month! Few of the others 
had seen him for a year. But the 
yoimg man’s tone expressed such 
hungry anticipation of a talk with 
the uncle whom he had not seen for 
a month that everybody obediently 
cleared out and left the two together. 

33 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


Then Jim Dent sat down close 
beside the invalid’s chair and 
looked straight into his uncle’s 
gentle blue eyes with his own very 
briUiant blue ones — and, some- 
how, for aU of the difference be- 
tween them there was a look of the 
uncle about the nephew. The well- 
knit, sturdy young hand gripped 
the thin old one and held it close, 
and the smile the two exchanged 
had in it love and welcome and 
understanding. 

‘‘Well, you’ve got them all here,” 
exulted Jim Dent. “Nobody but 
you could have done it. Uncle 
Sam’s coming, Anne says. That’s 
great, Uncle Stephen!” 

“I am confidently expecting 
Samuel,” responded the elder man. 
“How it will turn out I hardly dare 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

think. They may not speak to- 
night. This is only Christmas 
Eve. But to-morrow, Jim, is 
Christmas Day!’’ 

‘‘Yes, to-morrow’s Christmas 
Day, Uncle Steve.” 

“ Can brothers refuse to speak — 
on Christmas Day, Jim?” 

“I don’t believe they can — "un- 
der your roof. Uncle Steve. ” 

“My roof, boy! Under God’s 
roof!” 

“It’s pretty nearly the same 
thing,” murmured Jim Dent, not 
irreverently. 

“I may need your help, Jim.” 

“Sheep-dog — to bark at their 
heels and nm them into the same 
pasture?” 

Uncle Stephen smiled. His eyes 
and Jim’s met with a twinkle. 
35 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


“Just about that, perhaps,” he 
admitted. “I can’t tell yet. But 
keep your eyes open. ” 

“rU stand by,” agreed his 
nephew. “It’s a good thing the 
kiddies are here. Uncle Steve. 
When I came in Uncle George’s 
children and Uncle William’s were 
keeping more or less in separate 
squads, but the minute they pitched 
on to me the whole bimch were so 
tangled up I don’t think they’ll 
ever get untangled again. I had a 
glance at the fathers and mothers. 
Their faces were worth coming to 
see. ” 

Mr. Kingsley looked at Jim 
earnestly. “I’m counting on the 
children, boy, ” said he. 

“When it comes to a general 
mix-up,” rephed Jim Dent, “you 
36 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


can count on the youngsters every 
time.” 

The gray roadster belonging to 
Mr. Samuel Kingsley ran swiftly 
and silently through the gateway 
and up to the side entrance of 
his brother Stephen’s home. Mrs. 
Samuel sat beside her husband; a 
sharp-eyed mechanician rode in 
the nunble behind. 

‘‘How long, Evans?” inquired 
Mr. Kingsley as the machine came 
to a standstill. 

“Forty-two minutes, sir. That’s 
pretty good time over these icy 
roads. ” 

“ I should say so. Came as fast 
as if I wanted to come,” muttered 
the man of affairs, with his hand 
under his wife’s arm to escort her 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


up the steps. ^^As fast as if I 
wouldn^t rather be hung, drawn 
and quartered than meet that 

skinflint Sylv ’’ 

‘‘SamP’ Mrs. Sam pressed his 
hand with her plump arm against 
her side. “Please be civil to Syl- 
vester for Stephen’s sake and the 
children’s. Don’t let him or them 
see signs of the quarrel — not at 
Christmas, dear. ” 

“ I won’t shake hands with him, ” 
growled Samuel. “Not with Ste- 
phen himself looking on. ” 

“Yes, you will, dear, on Christ- 
mas Eve,” whispered Mrs. Sam. 

By which it may be seen that the 
mothers of many children have 
large hearts, and that Mr. Stephen 
Kingsley had with him one more 
ally than he knew. 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

Although Mr. Samuel Kingsley 
may have infinitely preferred, ac- 
cording to his own declaration, to 
be hung, drawn and quartered than 
to enter the great, old-fashioned 
doorway within which somewhere 
awaited him an encounter with one 
of his own flesh and blood, nobody 
would have guessed it from his 
demeanour. Long training in 
what James Dent, Junior, mentally 
characterized, as he watched Uncle 
Samuel make his entrance, as the 
art of bluffing — acquired by men 
of prominence in the world every- 
where — enabled that gentleman 
to appear upon the scene with an 
expression of affability mingled 
with pleasure on his handsome 
countenance, and his accustomed 
bearing of dignity and distinction 


39 








BROTHERLY HOUSE 


well in evidence. As it happened, 
Mr. Sylvester Kingsley was at the 
moment close by his brother Ste- 
phen’s side, although he had by no 
means intended to be there when 
his brother Samuel should arrive. 
How this happened it is possible 
that only the ‘^sheep-dog” could 
have told. 

‘‘ Samuel, this is giving me great 
happiness,” said Stephen, and held 
his brother’s strong hand for a 
moment in both his weak ones. 
Then he looked at Sylvester, who 
was on his farther side. Samuel 
also looked at Sylvester. Sylves- 
ter looked back at Samuel. Blades 
of steel could not have crossed with 
a sharper clang. 

‘‘How are you, Sylvester?” in- 
quired Samuel, and his glance 


40 


w 




BROTHERLY HOUSE 

dropped to Sylvester’s chin as he 
said it. His hand remained in 
Stephen’s, where it received a weak 
pressure, a quite involuntary one, 
bom of anxiety. 

“How are you, Samuel?” in- 
quired Sylvester in return, and his 
glance lowered to the expensive 
scarfpin in Samuel’s neckwear. 

Jim Dent said “Good heavens!” 
somewhere inside of him, and the 
incident was closed by his uncle 
Sylvester’s rising and walking away 
out of the room. The brothers 
had spoken — if this were speech. 
They had not shaken hands. An 
apprehending onlooker, betting 
on the probabilities, would have 
staked a considerable sum on the 
proposition that they would not 
shake hands within the next 


41 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 

twenty-four hours — or twenty-four 
years. 

‘‘Well, well — here’s Anne!” 
cried Jim Dent joyfully. He had 
been looking about him for first- 
aid to his uncle Stephen’s wounded 
heart. Anne was no longer of the 
group of children who were accus- 
tomed to leap upon Cousin Jim 
and demand instant sport with 
him. Anne, being now eighteen, 
and lately returned from a two- 
years’ absence at a boarding-school 
somewhere abroad, had allowed 
James Dent, Junior, to be in the 
house for a full half-hour before she 
emerged from some upstairs re- 
treat and came to greet him. Be- 
ing Mrs. Sam’s eldest daughter 
she was naturally extraordinarily 


42 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

pretty, looking much as her mother 
had looked twenty years before. 
As Mrs. Sam was still a beauty, 
and as she was his favourite aunt — 
by marriage — it will be easy to im- 
agine that when her nephew James 
had greeted her he had not failed to 
inquire for Anne. Still, he had had 
no possible idea that the change in 
Anne was going to be so great. 

Anne held out her hand with a 
dehghtful smile. But Jim Dent 
would have none of such a sudden 
accession of reserve, and promptly 
kissed her, as of old. Whereupon 
her colour, always interesting to 
observe, became even more at- 
tractive, though she only said, re- 
proachfully: 

Don’t you see I’m grown up. 
Cousin Jim?” 


43 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


Cousin Jim looked her over, from 
the crown of her charming dark 
head to the tips of her modishly 
shod little feet. “Bless your heart, 
so you are!’’ he exclaimed. “But 
will you tell me what that has to do 
with it?” 

“Everything. I no longer can 
be kissed as a matter-of-course,” 
declared Miss Anne Kingsley. 
“Only by special dispensation.” 

“Well, what do I think of that?” 
he demanded. “Sure, an’ I don’t 
know what I think! Still, as I 
see plenty of mistletoe about” — 
he had only to reach up a sinewy 
arm to secure a piece — “I can 
easily obtain that special dispen- 
sation. ” 

Whereupon he kissed her again, 
and with appreciably more fervour 








BROTHERLY HOUSE 

than before, having discovered, be- 
tween the first kiss and the second, 
that Anne, grown up, was unques- 
tionably more alluring than Anne 
as he had last seen her, although he 
remembered that even then he had 
had premonitions as to her future 
which he was now not at all surprised 
to find had been well founded. 

Feehng that nothing could be 
better for that heavy heart of his 
uncle Stephen's than the appHca- 
tion of such balm as lay in a girl’s 
sweetness, Jim Dent conducted his 
adorable cousin in to spend the next 
half-hour beside the invalid’s chair. 
In this act he showed the difference 
between himself and the average 
young man — between the sheep- 
dog, so to speak, always under the 
sway of a sense of duty to send 
45 



his charges where they belong, and 
the sportive terrier, who thinks of 
nothing but his own diversion. It 
must be acknowledged, however, 
lest this young man be thought 
quite unnaturally altruistic, that he 
himself shared with his cousin 
Anne the pleasant task of making 
a dear and gentle elderly man for- 
get for a time the load upon his 
breast, and that the pair of them, 
while they made merry for the 
benefit of Uncle Stephen, also 
laughed into each other’s eyes 
quite as often as they did into his. 
Which, of course, gave him fully as 
much pleasure as it did themselves. 


^‘Mother,” said Jim Dent in a 
corner somewhere, why not take a 
day off from the fuss and show 
46 




BROTHERLY HOUSE 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


Aunt Clara how to narrow, or 
widen, or double up, or whatever 
she seems to be trying to do, on 
that pink silk thing she^s knitting? 
It’s Christmas Eve, and she’s finish- 
ing it up to give to Uncle Sam’s 
baby, and she’s all balled up. She 
never knit socks before. Somebody 
else helped her on the other one. ” 
James,” said his mother sternly, 
but not as sternly as she might 
have spoken if her son’s lips had 
not Hghtly kissed her ear before 
they murmured these words into it, 
“it is impossible to ignore your 
aunt’s manner to me. ” 

“It’s not so awfully different, 
though, mother, from your manner 
to her. StiU, let’s see, how did the 
thing begin?” mused Jim. “She 
wrote that they’d aU come out in 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


July for a montli, and you wrote 
back ” 

‘‘I said the simple truth, James, 
that my kitchen was quite as hot in 
the country as hers in the city, in 
July.” 

‘^It certainly was the simple 
truth, mother. Somewhat undec- 
orated by a garnish of hospitahty, 
though — eh?” 

‘‘I had not accepted your aunt’s 
invitations to visit her in town in 
the winter. ” 

You’d had ’em, though. Don’t 
imaccepted invitations count any?” 

Isabel Dent stirred in her chair. 
“ She had visited me time and again 
without invitation. ” 

“ How far back did all this hap- 
pen? When I was in my cradle? 
I’ve forgotten. ” 


48 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 

“It was seven years ago last 
July.’’ 

“Seven years outlaws an unpaid 
account. Let’s start another. I’ll 
back you up if you’ll go over and 
offer to fix up that sock. If you 
do, the late unpleasantness will fix 
itself up. It’s just as easy as that. 
And — Uncle Steve wants it.” 

“Janies,” his mother’s tone was 
firm, “if your Aunt Clara comes to 
me I will not repulse her. ” 

“ She won’t come. You said the 
last hard word. ” 

“James!” 

All right, ” said Jim Dent with 
apparent resignation. “But even 
enemies declare a truce — on 
Christmas Eve. ” 

Then two small boys and four 
girls of various sizes romped into 
49 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


the corner after him and he went 
away with them. It was difficult 
to do otherwise, with all six twined 
about his arms and pulling lustily. 

“‘jBTe that loveth not his brother 
whom he hath seen^ how can he 
love God whom he hath not seenV'^^ 
Stephen spoke the words thought- 
fuUy. 

‘‘Steve,” said Samuel, with a 
flushing face, “it’s a mighty sight 
easier to love a God a feUow hasn’t 
seen than some men he has seen. 
Whatever the Almighty is He’s 
square. Sylvester isn’t. ” 

“ Sam,” said Stephen gently, yet 
with a quiet firmness which made 
Samuel look at him curiously, 
“are you absolutely certain Sylves- 
ter was not square? Admitting 

50 





BROTHERLY HOUSE 

that his methods were peculiar, 
annoying, without seeming reason 
or justification, are you sure they 
were not square?’’ 

‘‘I’m as confident he meant to 
deceive me as I sit here. ” 

“But do you know it? Could 
you prove it in a court of law?” 

Samuel hesitated. That was a 
question not to be answered quite 
so easily. “ I beheve I could. ” 

“But you don’t know you 
could?” 

“Great Caesar, Steve, I’m not 
omnipotent. I don’t know I could. 
But ” 

“Then there is a possibihty — 
just a possibihty — that you might 
be mistaken in your judgment of 
Sylvester. ” 

“ If there is it’s so smaU that — ” 

51 





BROTHERLY HOUSE 


‘‘The smaller it is the more 
danger of losing sight of it’ Yet, 

if it exists ” 

Samuel rose abruptly. “ See 
here, brother,’’ he said with an 
effort to command his usual man- 
ner, “why not let well enough 
alone? I’ve treated Sylvester 
civilly here under your roof. 
What more can you ask? What’s 
the use of stirring up strife on 
Christmas Day?” 

“Am I trying to stir up strife?” 
breathed Stephen Kingsley, his 
dehcate face turning even a shade 
paler than was its wont. “I — 
Sam, I’d give my right hand — not 
that it’s worth much — to see strife 
end between you and Syl, here — 
on Christmas Day. . . . What 

was that, Sam? What was that? ” 

52 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


Samuel ran heavily to the door, 
opened it, looked out, glanced 
back, then rushed through and 
shut the door sharply on the out- 
side. 

‘‘O, Lord, dear Lord, not any 
of the children, on Christmas Day ! 
pleaded a low voice inside. 

It was Jim Dent who had 
reached young Syl first when he 
fell through the well from the 
third story to the first of Uncle 
Stephen’s spacious old halls. Yoxmg 
Syl, Samuel’s twelve-year-old son, 
named for his Uncle Sylvester at a 
period when the brothers had been 
business partners and close friends, 
had been having a Hvely scuffle 
with his cousin Harold, Uncle 
George’s fourteen-year-old athlete. 

53 







tSi 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


The set-to had raged all over the 
house, had reached the third story, 
and had arrived at a point where 
any means for either to get the 
better of the other had prevailed. 
Harold had succeeded in forcing 
his adversary into a position where 
he could throw him, after some 
schoolboy method, and, bhnded by 
the excitement of the affair, had 
not reahzed just where he was. 
He had thrown Syl with such suc- 
cess that the younger boy had lost 
his clutch upon his antagonist and 
had gone over the low rail before 
Harold knew what had happened. 

“Keep cool!” was Jim’s first 
command, learned in many an 
emergency on school and college 
athletic fields. “A boy can stand 
a lot, and he landed on the rug. ” 
54 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 


They tried hard to obey him. 
His mother succeeded best, his 
father least. Samuel Kingsley 
could not wait to see his boy return 
to consciousness, could not wait 
after he had summoned a physician 
— two physicians — by telephone, 
but must needs rush out to get the 
gray roadster, with its sixty-horse- 
power cyhnders, declaring that he 
would meet Graham on the way. 
Graham ran only a turtle of a forty- 
horsepower machine and would 
never get there. 

His mechanician, Evans, was not 
on the ground. He, with Ledds, 
Sylvester’s chauffeur, had gone off 
on some Christmasing of their own. 
With hands that trembled Samuel 
got his motor throbbing — it took 
time, because of the stiffening cold 
55 




M 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

of all the mechanism. Then he 
leaped into his car. 

Better take time to put on your 
coat and gloves, ’ ’ said a voice behind 
-■ -7 him. ^‘You’U drive faster, warm.’ ^ 
His brother Sylvester climbed in 
beside him, himself in fur-lined 
garments. He held Samuel’s coat 
for him, and handed his brother the 
heavy motoring gloves of which 
Samuel had not stopped to think. 

‘H’U look out where you back; 
let her go, ” commanded Sylvester, 
and Samuel backed his car out of 
the narrow space where it had stood 
between Sylvester’s big brown 
limousine and Stephen’s modest 
phaeton. Samuel used care until 
he had made the curves from barn 
to road, between trees and hedges 
and the brown remains of a garden, 
56 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 

out through the old stone-posted 
gateway. Then, with a straight 
turnpike road before him and the 
city only twenty miles away, Sam- 
uel opened his throttle. The sHm, 
powerful machine, its exhaust, un- 
mufiled, roaring a deep note of 
power, shot away down the road 
like the wind 


At a window inside Mr. William 
Kingsley was watching excitedly. 
A tall figure of the general propor- 
tions of his sister Isabel’s husband, 
James Dent, was at his elbow. 

By George ! ” he ejaculated, “ Syl’s 
gone with Sam!” 

Mr. George Edngsley, partially 
deaf, caught his own first name. 
^'What’s that. Will?” he responded 
eagerly. 

57 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 

William wheeled and saw whom 
he was addressing. George, his 
anxious eyes peering down the road, 
was plainly not thinking of family 
quarrels. Why should anybody 
think of family quarrels with Sam^s 
young Syl lying upstairs looking as 
if the life had been knocked out of 
him by that terrific fall? William 
found himself unable to answer this 
question. 

Sylvester’s gone with Sam after 
Doctor Graham,” he announced in 
George’s interrogative best ear. 

“You don’t say!” responded 
George. “ Well, it’s a good thing. ” 

It certainly was. Not a mem- 
ber of the family but would admit 
that. Also, if it was a good thing 
for Sylvester and Sam to tear down 
the road together in a sixty-horse- 
8 




BROTHERLY HOUSE 

power car, after a quarrel the pro- 
portions of which anybody must 
concede were far more serious than 
those of the difficulty between 
George and William, it would seem 
rather forced, at least until the 
truth was known about young Syl, 
for two other brothers looking out 
of the same window to cling to 
outward signs of estrangement. 

‘‘ Sam’s got an extremely power- 
ful machine,” observed William, 
continuing to gaze down the road, 
though the aforesaid machine was 
already probably a mile away and 
far out of sight. 

guess he has. Must go faster 
than Sylvester’s, I should say.” 

‘‘Sylvester’s isn’t made so much 
for speed as for getting about the 
city warm and comfortable for his 
59 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


wife. Syl’s not much on speed, as 
I remember. Shouldn't wonder if 
Sam’s pace going to meet the doc- 
tor would make Syl hang on some.” 

‘‘It’s Sam’s boy,” said George 
in a lower tone. 

“So it is,” agreed William. 
“Couldn’t blame him if he took 
some chances. Don’t know as 
he’ll get Graham here more’n five 
minutes quicker’n he could get 
here with his own car, but it’ll re- 
heve the strain for Sam a little to 
be doing something. ” 

“That’s so,” admitted George. 

At this moment Harold, George’s 
boy, with a pale, frightened face 
and a pair of very red eyes, came 
into the room and up to his father. 
He had no eyes for his Uncle Wil- 
liam standing half within the long, 
6o 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


crimson folds of the library cur- 
tains. 

“Dad/’ said the boy, “did you 
know I ” 

“Eh?” said his father, turning 
his best ear. Then he saw his son’s 
face. “ Why, what’s the matter? ” 
he asked anxiously. “Is Syl ” 

“Dad,” burst out the boy, “I — 
I was the one that did it. I — 
threw — Syll ” 

He buried his head against his 
father’s arm. 

‘ ‘ Why, Harry — Harry, boy ’ ’ 

began his father in consternation. 

Uncle William came out from 
behind the curtain. He thought 
he had better get out of the 
room. But as he passed Harold 
his hand patted the yoimg head. 
He stooped to the boy’s ear. “ We 

6i 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


all know it was an accident,” he 
whispered. 

A nursemaid knocked upon the 
door of Mr. Stephen Kingsley’s 
room. In her arms was Mrs. 
Sam’s baby, the prettiest baby of 
the three who were in the house. 

‘^Mr. Kingsley,” said the maid, 
‘‘Mr. Dent — the young man — 
said I should bring Dorothy to you 
and ask you to take care of her for 
a Httle while, if you didn’t mind. 
He has something for me to do.” 

“Yes, yes — yes, yes,” answered 
the invalid. “I’U keep her.’’ He 
reached out his arms. “ How is the 
boy now, do you know?” he asked. 
He had had a bulletin within the 
last five minutes, but minutes go 
slowly imder suspense. 

62 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 

‘‘They think he may not be 
badly hurt, sir, ’’ said the maid. 

But this was what they had told 
him from the beginning. He felt 
that they could not know. They 
were afraid to alarm him. Fall so 
far and not be badly hurt? It was 
not possible. 

He took the baby, and laid his 
white cheek against hers of rose- 
leaf pink. So Jim had sent him the 
baby to take up his mind. Was 
there anything Jim didn’t think of? 
And one certainly cannot look after 
an eight-months-old baby and not 
give the matter considerable atten- 
tion. 

Young Sylvester Kingsley, Sam- 
uel’s son, opened his eyes. The first 
thing he saw was his mother’s face, 
which smiled at him. Mothers can 
63 


iS 

BROTHERLY HOUSE 

always smile, if necessary, thank 
God ! The next thing noticeable was 
his Cousin Jim’s bright blue eyes 
looking rather brighter than usual. 
He heard a caught breath some- 
where near and then a whisper: 
‘‘Sh-h — don’t startle him!” It 
sounded like his Aimt Clara’s 
rather sibilant whisper. Aunt 
Clara had the tiniest sort of a lisp. 

There was a strong smell of 
camphor in the air, and Syl’s fore- 
head seemed to be oppressed by 
something heavy and cold. He 
attempted to put up his hand to his 
head, but the thing didn’t work, 
somehow. He was conscious that 
his arm hurt, besides. He didn’t 
feel exactly like speaking, so he 
stared questioningly into his Cousin 
Jim’s face. 


64 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

‘‘All right, old man,” replied 
Cousin Jim instantly, in a quiet, 
cheerful sort of way which was 
most reassuring. “You’ve had a 
bit of a knockout, but we’ll soon 
have you fixed up. Yes, I know 
that arm hurts — that’ll be all 
right presently. ” 

Out in the upper hall Aunt Clara, 
who had crept out of the room lest 
the rehef of seeing the lad ahve, 
and the wonder of watching Syl’s 
mother smile at her boy like that, 
should make the sob in her own 
throat burst out, ran bhndly into a 
figure at the top of the stairs. 

“Oh, he’s come to!” she whis- 
pered loudly. 

“He has? Thank the Lord!” 
came back in another joyful whisper. 

65 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


“But he must be awfully hurt, 
just the same. We can’t know till 
the doctors come. Don’t you sup- 
pose it must be time for them 
now? ” 

“I don’t know. Who’s with 
him?” 

“His mother and that angel 
Jim. I never saw anybody like 
Jim Dent. He’s the dearest fel- 
low, so cool and cheerful, thinks of 
everything and everybody. No 
wonder Stephen adores him. ” 

“Thank you, Clara,” whispered 
the other woman. Clara hastily 
wiped her eyes. The hall was dim 
and her eyes had been thick with 
tears. She had been exchanging 
whispers with Isabel. 

It didn’t matter. She was glad 
of it. The mother of Jim Dent de- 
66 







I 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


served recognition, if she had said 
her kitchen was hot in summer. 
Clara put out her arms. Isabel came 
into them. Clara^s plump cheek 
touched Isabel’s thin shoulder. 
Isabel’s hand patted Clara’s back. 
Jim Dent opened the door. Seeing 
the affair outside he closed it again 
and went to find something he 
wanted, by a different exit. His 
anxiety was still great, but a side 
issue like this one must not be up- 
set. 

But by the second exit he found 
somebody else in his path. All the 
beautiful colour shaken out of her 
cheeks, her dark eyes wide with 
alarm, her hps pressed tight to- 
gether in her effort at self-control, 
young Syl’s sister, Anne, caught at 
Jim Dent’s capable, blue-serge arm. 

67 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

She said not a word, but he an- 
swered her as if she had spoken: 

“He’s opened his eyes, dear. 
That means a good deal, I’m sure. 
Keep cool. ” 

“If I could only do something!” 

“You can — what we’re all do- 
ing.” 

“Oh, ye5.'” breathed little Anne. 
“O Jim! — do you think it helps — 
really?” 

“Know it,” asserted Jim Dent, 
as confidently as he had ever said 
anything in his life. He smiled at 
her and hurried on. That smile of 
his had been known to win games 
for his college teams which had 
been all but lost — why shouldn’t 
it cheer a frightened girl and en- 
courage her to go on doing that one 
thing which was the only thing she 
68 





r 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 

could do, and which Jim Dent was 
so sure would help? 

The gray roadster came down 
the road at a speed which barely 
allowed it to slacken in time to 
make the curve at the gateway. 
It missed the stone post on the left 
by the width of a tenpenny nail. 
Sylvester, in the rumble, turned 
not a hair. Thirty miles of driv- 
ing, with Sam’s hand on the steer- 
ing-wheel, had brought Sylvester 
to a condition of temporary pa- 
ralysis as regarded danger. 

The three of them were in the 
house in less time than it takes to 

pelled by a hand on each arm. It 
would have been difficult for him 
to say which of his companions 
69 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 

seemed the more eager to get him 
up the stairs. 

Samuel opened the door of the 
room where he had left young Syl, 
his hand shaking on the knob. A 
somewhat feeble but decidedly 
cheerful voice greeted him. 

‘‘Say, dad, you’ll tell me where 
I tumbled from, won’t you? The 
rest of ’em have got me stung about 
it.” 

Samuel turned around to the 
doctor behind him. He pushed 
past the doctor and bolted out 
into the hall. He bumped smartly 
into his brother Sylvester, who had 
stopped to wait just outside the 
door. Sylvester put his hand on 
Samuel’s shoulder. 

“I heard, Sam, I heard,” he 
murmured. 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


Samuel nodded. He could not 
speak. There was no particular 
need that he should. 

Young Syl had a broken arm. 
But what is a broken arm, when by 
acquiring it one escapes injuring 
some vital part of one’s body? He 
had, also, a large-sized contusion 
on his head, because on the rebound 
he had come somewhat forcibly 
into contact with the newel-post. 
But the contusion was precisely on 
the spot specially fortified by 
Nature for such emergencies, and 
the doctors feared no evil results 
from it. 

“In short,” declared Doctor 
Graham with great satisfaction, 
“the boy has managed to get out 
of his fall easier than many a foot- 
ball victim who is thrown only 


71 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

the distance of his own height. I 
won’t say that a Turkey carpet 
with a leopard-skin rug on top of it 
doesn’t make a fairly comfortable 
bed to fall on. If it had been one 
of our modem bare floors, now! — 
But it wasn’t.” 

“ Mayn’t I have my dinner with 
the rest of ’em?” begged Syl. 

Dinner! The Christmas dinner! 
They had all forgotten it except 
the hero of the day. “Because 
I’m awfully hungry,” urged Syl. 

In the deserted hall downstairs 
Jim Dent happily encoimtered 
Anne. He seized her hand. 

“Come with me to tell Uncle 
Stephen!” he commanded. “But 
— stop crying first! Uncle Steve’s 
a pretty wise man, but he can’t be 


72 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


expected to tell the difference be- 
tween tears of sorrow and tears of 
crazy joy — not at first sight. ’’ 

‘‘I don’t know why I’m cry- 
ing,” sobbed Anne, breaking down 
completely and burying her face 
on the blue-serge shoulder which 
conveniently offered itself at the 
moment, just as she had done many 
times since she was a baby. Even 
when she was eight and Cousin 
Jim was fifteen, that shoulder of 
his had been one to hide one’s im- 
happy eyes upon. I didn’t cry a 
drop — till I knew Syl was s-safe! ” 
‘‘I know. Queer, isn’t it? It 
always works that way. I confess 
I had some difficulty in seeing the 
way across the room myself, a few 
minutes ago.. But wipe ’em away 
and come on! Uncle Stephen 


73 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

mustn’t have to wait for his news. 
Look up here. Smile I Here — 

maybe this will help ” and 

for the third time within twenty- 
four hours he stooped and kissed 
her. 

The tremulous hps broke sud- 
denly into the smile he sued for. 
Through the tears shone a sudden 
mischievous light. Cousin Jim, ” 
she observed, ‘^you seem to have 
changed your methods a good deal. 
Always before it was chocolates. 
Are you out of chocolates?” 

'‘No, I’m not out of chocolates.” 
James Dent, Junior put his hand 
into his blue-serge pocket and pro- 
duced a small box. "But you’re 
too old for ’em,” he explained, and 
put the box back. 

He hurried her past the threshold 
74 




BROTHERLY HOUSE 

of Mr. Stephen Kingsley’s room. 
Across the baby’s golden head 
Uncle Stephen looked tensely up 
at them. It needed but one look. 
Then his nephew sprang forward 
and took Anne’s baby sister from a 
grasp which had grown suddenly 
nerveless, and his niece, stooping 
over her uncle’s chair, gently pat- 
ted a white cheek down which the 
first tear of rehef was slowly trick- 
ling. 

It seems to “work that way” 
with the whole human race. Ex- 
cept, perhaps, with mothers. Up- 
stairs, Mrs. Sam sat beside her 
boy’s bed, and his keen young eyes 
saw no tears upon her lovely, 
radiant face. If she cried at all 
it was only in her heart — her 
happy hearty — which ached yet 
75 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 

with the agony of what might have 
been — on Christmas Day. 

It was a good thing that the 
dining-room in the old house was 
a big one. Mr. Kingsley had 
specially decreed that everybody — 
everybody — should be seated at 
one great table. There was to be 
no compromise effected by having 
the children wait for the ‘‘second 
table” — has any one who has ever 
waited for that “second table” at 
a family gathering forgotten what 
an ordeal it is, or how interminably 
long the old folks are about it? 
There were twenty-nine of them, 
including the three babies, but by 
some marvel of arrangement Mrs. 
Griggs had managed to make a 
place for every one. 

76 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


^‘But you’ll have to say how 
we’re to seat them,” said Mrs. 
Griggs, anxiously invading Mr. 
Stephen Kingsley’s room. ‘‘With 
all our planning we’ve forgot 
that part. You’d better make me 
out a Hst, so I can lay those holly 
cards you’ve written the names 
on.” 

“Bless my soul,” murmured Mr. 
Kingsley, “must they be specially 
arranged? Of course they must. 
I had forgotten. Clara” — he 
turned to his sister who came in 
at the moment — “help me with 
this, will you?” 

“Give me the cards, Mrs. 
Griggs, ” requested Mrs. Clara ca- 
pably. She swept a clear space on 
the table at her brother’s elbow as 
she spoke. 


1 



VLV 






BROTHERLY HOUSE 


^‘What’s all this?” asked Jim 
Dent at the door five minutes later. 
‘‘Card games?” 

“Do come and help me, Jim,” 
cried his aunt. “I thought this 
would be easy, but it’s not. I can’t 
keep George’s and William’s fami- 
nes apart, ” she explained in a lower 
tone. “There are so many of 
them.” 

“Don’t try.” 

“Oh, but I must. They — you 
know that old ” 

“It seems to be a thing of the 
past. I met Uncle George’s boy 
Harold and Uncle William coming 
downstairs hand in hand just now. 
They’d been up to see Syl together.” 

“ Jim ! ” His uncle’s face lighted 
as if the sunlight had struck it. 
“But the fathers?” 

78 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

Jim put his head out of the door 
and took a survey of the room be- 
yond. “Sitting on opposite sides 
of the fireplace, ’’ he announced. 

“That’s pretty near,” admitted 
Mr. Kingsley. “That’s certainly 
pretty near. With a fire between 

them. I wonder what ” 

“Syl’s tumble did it. It made 
the mix-up we were looking for. 
Not exactly as we would have 
planned it, but rather more ef- 
fectively, I should say. ” 

“Stephen,” said Mrs. Clara, 
moving the cards about in an 
absent sort of way, “Stephen and 
Jim, I want to tell you that — 

well — Isabel and I ” 

“Yes,” helped Stephen eagerly. 
“Good for you!” encouraged her 
nephew. 


79 


BROTHERLY BOUSE 


“We couldn’t seem to keep it up 

— not here — on Christmas Day 

— after Syl ” Tears were 

suddenly threatening the holly 
cards. Mrs. Clara rose quickly. 
“I think they’re all right now, 
Stephen,” she said, indicating the 
cards and clearing her eyes with a 
touch of a lace-bordered handker- 
chief. “I’ve put Sam and Syl 
at the far ends of the table.” 

“I want them near together.” 
“But — had you better?” 

“I’m going to risk it.” 

“Risk it. Uncle Steve,” advised 
Jim. “Everybody’s taking chances 
to-day.” 

“But — Sam and Sylvester ! ’ ’ 
persisted Clara doubtfully. 

“It’s Christmas Day with them, 
too, ” argued Jim. 

8o 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

Mrs. Clara went out with the 
cards and laid them down at the 
proper places. She had arranged 
them as nearly as possible in ap- 
proved dinner style, a man next a 
woman, then a boy, then a girl, 
then another man, another woman, 
and so on. 

When she had gone Jim sneaked 
out and scrutinized this arrange- 
ment. Laughing to himself he 
picked up the cards and juggled 
with them. About his uncle Ste- 
phen he grouped the cards of his 
three brothers and their wives. At 
the other end of the table he put all 
the children together. 

There, thaCs better,” said Jim 
with conviction, to himself. 

Mrs. Griggs announced dinner. 

8i 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


Jim Dent brought Uncle Stephen 
out first in his wheel-chair and 
placed him at the head of the table. 
Then came the rest, Samuel Kings- 
ley carrying his son Syl, looking 
very hero-like indeed, with his ban- 
daged head and his arm in a sHng. 
All the children’s eyes were riveted 
fascinatedly on Syl as he was placed 
in a special easy chair at the foot of 
the table, where nobody could pos- 
sibly by any chance hit the injured 
arm. 

On one side of Mr. Stephen 
Kingsley, Mrs. Samuel found her 
place; on the other side, Mrs. 
Sylvester. Sylvester was next 
Mrs. Sam, Sam beyond Mrs. Syl. 
How he dared, every one wondered, 
thinking it Uncle Stephen’s plan. 
Uncle Stephen himself turned a 
82 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


little pale as he saw them standing 
behind their chairs. Only Jim 
Dent, whose wide-awake eyes had 
been seeing things all day, felt at 
all cool about it. And even he was 
not quite as cool as he looked. 

There was a moment’s hushed 
silence before they sat down, even 
the children fluttering into quiet. 
Then, just as everybody laid hands 
on chairback, Samuel Kingsley 
spoke. 

“Steve,” he said, looking at his 
brother, “I want to make a Httle 
speech. ” 

Everybody was at attention. 
Stephen Kingsley looked up, won- 
dering. He smiled at his brother, 
but his heart was making riot in his 
feeble breast. What was Sam go- 
ing to do? 


83 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 

“I want to say/^ said Samuel — 
then he stopped. He was an ac- 
comphshed after-dinner speaker, 
was Samuel Kingsley, but he had 
never had a speech to make like 
this one. He had thought he had 
it ready on his tongue, but it stuck 
in his throat. He turned and 
looked down the table at his boy 
Syl. Syl nodded at him, compre- 
hending in a boyish way that his 
father was having some sort of 
difficulty with his speaking appara- 
tus. Then Samuel looked at Mrs. 
Samuel, who smiled at him. She 
was a httle pale yet, but her smile 
was bright as ever. Yet still 
Samuel could not make his speech. 

The silence grew tense. Jim 
Dent, leaning forward and watch- 
84 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


ing his uncle eagerly, felt that it 
must be reheved. He Hfted his 
glass. “Here’s to Uncle Sam’s 
speech!” he cried. 

The tension broke. Everybody 
laughed — a little agitatedly, and 
Uncle Sam’s firm Hps, under the 
close-cut, gray moustache, wavered, 
then set themselves. He looked at 
his nephew, and something about 
the sympathetic affection in the 
bright blue eyes steadied him. 

“I’m afraid I can’t make it, 
after all, Jim,” said Samuel. “But 
perhaps I can act it. ” 

And he stretched his hand across 
the table toward his brother Syl- 
vester, who grasped it, as every- 
body could see, with a grip that 
stung. 

Jim Dent’s eyes flew to his 
85 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 

Uncle Stephen’s face. He saw it 
like that of Saint Stephen’s of old, 
as it had been the face of an angel, ” 


To young Sylvester Kingsley, 
hero of the day, was destined to 
come still further distinction. It 
was all of a chance observation of 
his, made just before his removal 
to bed — at the same hour as his 
baby sister, much to his disgust. 
But, resigning himself to his fate, 
as Cousin Jim stooped to bear him 
away he gave one last look about 
the pleasant, holly-hung room. 

Although their elders had kept 
as many of the family differences 
from their children’s ears as was 
possible, they had not been able to 
forestall the use of the children’s 
sharp eyes, and the sight Syl now 


BROTHERLY HOUSE 


saw struck him as unusual. It was 
nothing more than the gathering of 
five brothers, of var3dng ages, about 
the chair of one of their number, 
in front of the great fireplace where 
roared and crackled a mighty fire 
of logs. But the expressions of 
geniahty and cordial interest upon 
the five faces indicated such good 
fellowship that the young son of 
Samuel Kingsley was moved to say 
to his cousin Jim: 

‘‘What a lot of brothers there 
are in this house! Dad’s got four, 
and I’ve three and Harold’s two, 
and they’re aU in this room. This 
ought to be called ‘Brotherly 
House.’” * 

“So it ought,” agreed Jim Dent, 
smiling at the thought. “It would 
be a fine name, and true, too. ” 

87 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 


He carried the boy away, and 
stopped to tell him a story after he 
was in bed — a football story, such 
as only Cousin Jim could teU, 
because he knew aU about it from 
the inside. But when Jim came 
back to the fireside he told them of 
young SyFs idea. ‘‘And a joUy 
idea I call it, don’t you?” he 
added. 

Uncle Stephen looked from one 
to another of the four men around 
him, and saw the assenting smiles 
upon their faces — a bit shame- 
faced, perhaps, yet genuine. 

Samuel Eangsley rose to his feet. 
“I could make my speech now,” 
he said, with a happy laugh, his 
hands shoved well down into his 
pockets, where they jingled some 
loose change there in a bo)dsh 
88 



BROTHERLY HOUSE 


fashion. “But I don’t want to. 
I’m only going to say that as long 
as I have a brother in the world 
like Stephen Kingsley I’m coming 
to see him as often as he’ll have me. 
And the more of you boys I meet 
here the better I’ll be pleased — 
particularly if the boy I meet here 
happens to be — ” he glanced, 
smiling, across the little circle — 
“my brother Syl!” 

“Hear, hear!” answered Sylves- 
ter Kingsley’s deep voice. 

So, to Stephen Kingsley’s in- 
tense delight, Brotherly House^^ 
it was — and has been ever since. 


THE END 



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